


Self Destruction

by the_authors_exploits



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Pain, brief selfharm, not hawthorne posititve, oc death+Forsaken compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 16:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15952850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_authors_exploits/pseuds/the_authors_exploits
Summary: She keeps losing and losing and losing...





	Self Destruction

**Author's Note:**

> i have this headcanon that the Awoken culture used to be very gladiator type; so they had arenas and fights and that sort of thing. My two OCs, XIon (zion) and Xailie (kai-lee), were twin warriors in the arena since they were little. They had a rough background filled with gore and very little comfort besides each other, so when they came back they feel a little overwhelmed and frustrated that they're supposed to just be another set of warriors in a war.
> 
> Hence where Cayde comes in; he kinda keeps them sane and from going off the deep end. So, when Xion loses Xailie and then Cayde she goes a little nutters; this is the story of her losing her mind.

Xion buried her brother after the fall of the tower, the city; she had no body--many lost in the rubble--but his dead ghost and absence was enough for her to know. It was something in her soul, too, being Awoken and twins; twin warriors in the arena, twin warriors in the wasteland, twin warriors in spirit…

When he had died, she had died too, ducking behind cover and clutching at her chest; there was no air, no sound, no feel to her limbs. Suddenly, for the first time in her life, she was alone.

At the cemetery, a quartered off section outside of the farm, Xion gathered with others; many had been lost, and she wondered if the cemetery would be enough. There were so many missing, so many dead, so many to bury and remember.

“Xion!” Cayde, the strangest one to be put in charge of such a heavy job, waved her over. “Here, there are some empty places up this way.”

By a tree, in the shade, up on the edge of a hill; not the greatest place to bury bodies, so it was left for those with nothing to bury. Cayde indicated the small holes, dug for personal effects, and Xion looked them all over; her Ghost materialized beside her and observed the plots too.

“This one is nice, Guardian.” Ghost hovered over a plot to the west of the tree. “The sunset is just over there.”

Xion, ever quiet, merrily trekked over and settled the broken and battered Ghost of her brother in the hole; she began piling the dirt back in, filling the hole as if it had never been dug, and something wet landed on her blue skin. She pondered it for but a second before smoothing the dirt out and kneeling away, wiping her hands on her pants.

It was done; Xailie was gone, put to rest, and she was expected to move forward. To keep fighting; there was no doubt about it, a fire in her belly, but her heart was too sick to feel much satisfaction in vengeance.

A heavy hand rested upon her shoulder and gave a squeeze. “You know where to find me if you ever need to talk.”

She reached up and gripped tight to his hand; Cayde had always been a wonderful mentor to her and her brother. Any time they wavered, they wondered, feared… He was always there. A supportive word or a ready distraction--missions or jokes… Any comfort he offered, they readily accepted. The arena had never been friendly, the only home they ever knew, so Cayde’s casual kindness was everything they ever wanted.

And for Xion he was a guiding beacon; she had been skeptical about the Traveler, her Ghost, and the battles they were fighting. She had always been skeptical; but Cayde was good, and if he pledged some form of allegiance to the Traveler than so would she. Especially after the fight for the city, especially after the loss of her other half, her resolve was unsteady.

Without Cayde, Xion doubted she would still consider the Traveler something to fight for.

 

The hanger was empty; well, not empty with its hustle and bustle, but Cayde was missing and so it was empty. She nabbed the arm of a passing mechanic.

“Where’s Cayde?”

“The Hunter Vanguard?” the girl shrugged, and Xion let her go. “Heard he was headed out to the reef.”

The reef? Cayde rarely got his hands dirty, which was an annoyance of his; he was bored within the Tower. Maybe that was why he went out to the reef; to let off some steam, ease his anxious nature, so that he could return and stand still once more.

Yet, something didn’t sit right with her. A warning; she knew better than to ignore warnings.

“Ghost.” her companion materialised and inquisitively spun its shell. “See if you can track Cayde’s location.”

“Certainly, Guardan.” A few turns of its shell and Ghost hummed electricity. “He’s in the hanger getting ready to leave; if you hurry, you can catch him.”

So she hurried; feet fell heavy and purposeful upon the ground and soon Cayde came into view assessing his ship.

“Cayde.” Xion approached and Cayde froze as if his hand were caught in the cookie jar; XIon’s lips twitched but she schooled herself into neutrality. “You were going on a mission without me?”

She could tell he was grinning. “Well I heard you were off on Io kicking Taken ass.”

“Well I’m back now.” She stepped closer, something blooming in her chest as it always did in Cayde’s presence; fixing all her jagged edges, filling in all the empty spaces. “We’re going to the Reef?”

 

They materialized together, marched towards the prison together, in sync in their swagger; she felt powerful and invincible, calm and focused with Cayde at her side. She hadn’t had a partner in so long, hadn’t fought alongside someone she trusted and loved since Xailie’s death.

She was whole for a moment.

They moved in tandem; when Cayde took aim at one enemy, she covered him. When she focused her scout rifle on one enemy, he watched her back; when she activated Nightstalker, he lured enemies out for her to one-shot.

And when he broke away, left her side, rode a piece of machinery into the depths of the prison...

She was alone again.

 

There was a familiar pull of a trigger; for some reason, it caused her to pause. Ghost was talking to her, but her ears were ringing. The door slid open; in the distance she spotted someone walking away, towards a group of escaped convicts. Something moved on the ground, drawing her gaze.

It was Cayde upon the ground, something leaking a puddle on the ground around him; his Exo lights were flickering erratically, and Xion looked back towards…

Uldren, holding Cayde’s Ace of Spades, giving a dark smirk. “He didn’t suffer.”

She whipped her rifle up, finger heavy on the trigger, but Uldren was gone; with a frustrated yell, she ran to Cayde’s side. He was bleeding, beaten and scarred. He coughed roughly.

A hand unsteadily waved at his head. “How’s my hair?”

She brought Ghost out, hands hovering over Cayde’s injuries, wondering what she could do to help. He coughed and spluttered more, and Ghost hesitantly turned back to her.

“There’s nothing I can…”

She let her helmet fade away from her face, pulling her hood down, and gripped to Cayde’s bloody hand.

“Silent.” He held her hand tight, comforting and seeking comfort. “Typical.”

She couldn’t find her voice; it was hard to breathe and her tongue wouldn’t work.

“Listen, kiddo,” he spoke breathlessly. “This is not your fault, a’right? Don’t go blaming yourself; just keep fighting.”

More coughs, gasping breaths, and suddenly the light in his eyes died away and he was gone; his fingers loosened, but did not slip from her grip. She searched for any sign of life; her lungs heaved and she leaned closer, eyes roving wildly.

“C-Cayde,” she choked out. “Cayde!”

Ghost hovered close to her. “Guardian…”

She pressed her brow to Cayde’s, shutting her eyes in grief, something ripping apart her insides. “Don’t leave me, please.”

 

Ikora and Zavala talk; she didn’t listen. Cayde lay under a cloth in the center of the room. The world was far away and hazy; she was cocooned in something dark and suffocating.

“This is Cayde we’re talking about.”

There were questions running through her mind, so fast; too fast for her to answer any. Spiraling in horror; she was alone, even as Ghost hovered in front of her face, attempting to bring her back to reality, gentle voice coaxing her close to reality. She didn’t want to face the truth; hidden behind her shock she could pretend she wasn’t alone, she wasn’t dying as the seconds ticked by.

“Guardian,” Ghost whispered, ever patient, and she lifted her gaze from Cayde.

Her eyes hardened into glowing ice, hard and determined, tears shoved aside for now. “Uldren,” she finally spoke, voice thick and heavy. “Is mine.”

 

The truth came out; Mara was dead, voice heard by her brother, and Xion wondered if she was looking into a mirror. She could have been in Uldren’s position, hearing Xailie calling for her help, and she would have answered just as readily as Uldren.

She didn’t think, though, that she would have killed Cayde; she loved Cayde, with ever fiber in her being, almost as much as she loved her brother. But Uldren had no Cayde; the Exo had kept her sane after her brother’s death. Uldren had no one.

Still, she easily raised her gun and aimed it at Uldren.

“Are you sure you know which side you’re on,  _ Guardian _ ?”

She paused. “I have never been sure; but I have also never been more sure of my actions then now.” She blinked, but tears still ran down her cheek. “You didn’t need to kill him.”

Uldren coughed a laugh. “Just as you don’t need to kill me, hm?”

She didn’t deign him with any thought, any answer, and Xion pulled the trigger.

 

There was no satisfaction; the Tower was still empty, the hanger was lonely, Colonel buck-bucked in earnest at the sight of her. Xion gave him a soft scritch and some seed, apologizing every time that she wasn’t Cayde.

There was a plaque near Zavala, a picture of Cayde in the ramen shop, a small memorial service held; it was not enough. It would never be enough, at least for Xion. She tried ever hard to fulfill patrols and missions, but with no Vanguard for the hunters they had all begun to fall apart; many stayed busy on missions, some couldn’t bare to leave the Tower where they had last seen their mentor. She rarely came to the Tower and stayed out on the planets as much as possible; staying busy kept her from fighting tears and the suffocating feeling that encompassed her in every minute of every day.

“Today, we commemorate our old friend.” Ikora’s voice carried out over the Tower square; Xion barely paid any attention. She went to her dorm room, pulled a bag out, and began packing. She didn’t want to return her ever again.

She could never fully abandon the Guardian calling; after all, Ghosts were forever tied to their Guardian until Ghosts died, and Ghosts connected their Guardians to the Traveler. She would never escape this destiny; but she could avoid the pain. Bag slung over her shoulder, she stepped back into the square and began the trek to the hanger.

“Guardian!” Zavala’s voice rang out, but she did not stop; his feet pounded and his grip was tight upon her arm. “Where are you going?”

She barely reacted. “Anywhere but here.”

“You are a Guardian, Xion.” Ikora, though chastising, was kind and soft. “You cannot leave.”

“I am aware, Warlock Vanguard.” Xion finally pulled away from Zavala’s grip; the crowd gathered to mourn was drawn to the scene. She saw many hunters, arms around each other, offering comfort in this confusing time. “But I am also aware, no matter what we do, we will never be good enough.”

Ikora’s brows furrowed and Xion scoffed.

“When the Tower fell, what were we met with?” She pointed a finger at Hawthorne in the crowd. “Hate and disdain! We fight and die, and some of us don’t get to come back, and we’re greeted with people saying we haven’t done enough? That we don’t give enough, fight enough, sacrifice enough! That we don’t understand what they have to go through?” Xion shifted out of Ikora’s grasp. “No! I have had enough; many of us didn’t even have bodies to bury, and now we hunters have lost our leader? I cannot stay here.”

She stepped away, hiking the bag higher over her shoulder. “I am done fighting for an alien I don’t even understand; I am done fighting for nothing. Self satisfaction at fighting the good fight? That doesn’t exist; it’s a vague white lie you tell us all to keep us under your rule. How are we any different from the Fallen, the Taken? We’re all just trying to survive. ‘Fight for the Traveler, the Light’, but I’m done. I fight for me now; I fight for Cayde, and for everyone we’ve lost. I don’t fight in the Guardian name anymore, because it's never meant anything to anyone.”

The crowd was murmuring now, some in dissidence with her view but others in agreement; many stepped away, towards her, anarchists angry and saddened.

“I fight whatever fight seems worthy.” She didn’t give the Vanguards time to respond; she turned for the hanger and was gone within moments, other ships following behind her into the void.

 

She had settled on a piece of rubble near Failsafe; her Ghost fluttered about the debris, scanning, uneasy but understanding of her choice to abandon the Tower. Xion ran a whetstone over her dagger; one swipe went wrong, and purple blood spilled from the cut on her hand.

“Ah!” She sucked on the wound, but Ghost ever quickly zoomed over to patch her up.

“Be careful, Guardian,” Failsafe muttered sweetly, then growled out “terrible if you were to die!”

“Ghost,” Xion called; she stared down at the scarless skin where a deep cut had just been. “Go away for a little bit.”

He hesitated, but a glaring look from Xion sent him fluttering away; one he was far enough away, out of sight, Xion set the dagger to her skin once more. The sting was welcoming, and she grit her teeth as the purple blood spilled out once more and ran down her arm.

“Why do you do that?”

She dug the tip into her finger. “Because it’s easier than sitting here.”

“You could go back to the Tower,” Failsafe offered.

“I will never go back there; there is nothing in this universe that makes me want to stay.”

“So die,” came the scathing remark and Xion chuckled sadly.

“To die I would have to kill my Ghost; he deserves better than that.”

She stood, looking out across the land; a Warlock was standing a ways away and, upon noticing her, waved. He was a deserter too, and she waved back with her stained hand; Ghost approached, showing worry at the injuries she had accumulated in his absence.

“This is why I don’t leave you alone! What happened?”

She felt him numb the pain, close the wound, give her health; she saw a patch of Fallen in the distance, just waiting to be crushed. Summoning her gun, she set out to chase some sort of empty relief.


End file.
